garlic #15, the witching hour
typical love story moment, isn't it?
Author: wingshaped
Universe: World Enterprises
Flavor(s): Garlic #15, the witching hour
Wordcount: 1407
Rating: PG
Summary: The moment when Rain and Chesney realized they were in love. Backstory, but not far back enough to count as butterscotch.
Notes: A request, delivered on the spot (for this prompt, and including Chesney, not for this scene).
"Why are we here?" he whispered, and his voice felt horribly out of place. Not only was his whisper a perpetual stage whisper, loud and awkward, but his accent was sharply that of an American Southerner.
Sure, they were in the American South -- an American South, Rain Erlend reminded herself, this was one of many upon many and she was an agent of World Enterprises, subset T.H.E.Y., working as a subterfuge diplomat. A complicated enough position as it was, to try and convince people to settle down and do certain things without them even knowing she was doing it -- but it still sounded awkward to her. She was from Kent, and not the Kent in this world, as this world's England was nothing like hers, but the fact that this world was just similar enough to hers to be incredibly confusing (it was the 1980s, it looked like the 1950s, she was in the Confederate Colony of the Americas, for crying out loud, still beholden to Mother England!) made everything sound awkward.
Rain thought perhaps every time she looked inward and thought, in this world, she overused the mental italics.
Especially when it came to him. Chesney Birmingham-Smythe. Annoying just-out-of-school architect, misogynistic as they came, swung his rifle around too much. Tall, broad, blond, shaggy, irresistibly handsome, and despite the fact he'd tried to shoot her when he first saw her, more than just his irresistible handsomeness (and his stupid name, for that matter) was growing on her.
He was funny. He liked adventures. He liked following her around, despite how much trouble he kept insisting she was. And maybe she was trouble. But she was here to do a job, and he -- well, he kept being incidentally helpful.
"It's the devil's hour," Rain explained, as they continued to hide under the porch of a popular bar. "Hour before three a.m."
"Devil's hour's midnight," Chesney argued.
"Is not."
"Is too."
"It most certainly is not. The devil's hour is the hour before three o'clock in the morning, the witching hour you can say is whenever you like, and in worlds with magic --"
"Worlds with magic! What you talking about, woman?"
The way he spoke. She couldn't help it. Rain giggled. Giggling like a little girl, and she was nearly thirty-five years old.
"In worlds with magic," she continued, "superstition has it that magic has its greatest power in the hour before three. I, of course, don't believe it at all. But here, chaos has its greatest power in the hour before three --"
"Do you honestly expect me to believe that?"
"So does nature."
"What?"
People at Headquarters used to call Rain "Nature Girl." It wasn't a hard nickname to earn; her name was Rain. Her parents were hippies. She was one too.
"Nature has its greatest power in the hour before three. Isn't it beautiful?"
And finally, Rain's soft voice (having given up on whispers), and the gentle touch of her fingertips against the top of his hand as they sat, curled up together, getting dirty, underneath the broken porch of a not-so-local bar at 2:48 in the morning -- well, it got to Chesney.
He tossed his head a little, turned to face her. Stared into her eyes. It was like a scene in a bad romantic comedy, it was all too perfect.
She laughed.
Their fingers twined.
Chesney wanted to kiss her. Suddenly, he wanted to kiss her more than anything, like his entire world was wrapped up in kissing this infuriating woman --
Just before he leaned in, something in the back of the bar exploded. The building shook. Dust started to cave in on them. And Rain -- Rain was laughing.
"Run!" she chirped, and grabbed his hand, and pulled him out from underneath the porch, and they ran. They ran away from what was turning into a giant ball of flame, as booze on tap caught fire, too. They ran into a field, and then they were falling as they lost their footing, running and laughing, and tumbled slightly until they had fallen into a stream, finding themselves mildly cut up and soaking wet, Rain's skirts spilled about her, Chesney's boots filling up with water. They'd lost Rain's sunhat (the damn thing she insisted wearing even at night) about a mile back, and her twenty tiny braids were starting to unravel.
She had mud on her face.
"You have mud on your face," Rain pointed out, as she went to wipe it away from Chesney's cheeks, and he laughed again.
"Was gonna tell you that." Her touch was just what he needed. Wasn't it?
She smiled.
He splashed her face with water from the stream, grinning maliciously. "Wash it off, then!"
She shook her head at him, but actually used the stream water on her face. He cringed. How could she trust it? How could she do most of the things she did? Who was this woman, who'd been near him for the past month, who said all these things about other worlds and magic and secrets and devil's hours and chaos for crying out loud --
She was right about the chaos, though.
"How'd you know that was going to happen?"
"How did I --" Rain hesitated. "Oh. I didn't. I simply knew something would. It had to. It was the right time."
"And draggin' me --"
"You followed me."
"You knew I had."
That was true. "Well. I do like your company --"
"Rain."
"What."
"Damn it, woman, you're ridiculous."
"I am no such thing!"
"You are!"
"Why would you say a thing like that? Just then? Why'd it pop into your head?"
Good question. "Felt like I had to. Felt like I had to tell you that. Make sure you knew it."
"Well -- I know you feel that way."
"I don't just feel that way. I know that way. I mean, I know that you're --"
Kissing him, was the answer, suddenly. When he wasn't quite paying attention, their fingers had twined again, and he'd been aware of how she was getting closer to him and he was getting closer to her and -- well, he hadn't been expecting that.
He hadn't been expecting her to kiss him. What right did she think she had, kissing him first?
But even though they were out in a stream, wet, in the middle of the night, downhill from a blazing fire where a bar he'd been in maybe once used to be, well, Chesney Birmingham-Smythe just didn't care that the crazy woman had kissed him first. It was hard to care, surrounded by all the absurdity.
When the moment passed, he asked her: "Why?"
"What?" She was laughing as she spoke, leaning back against him. They were holding hands. He looked up. The stars were beautiful. He looked to his right. She was beautiful. The summer was beautiful. If you could ignore the fire, and the fact they'd spent an hour eavesdropping underneath a bar and hadn't heard anything that sounded important to him, well, everything about that night was beautiful.
"Why'd you drag me out --"
"I didn't even invite you."
"You knew I was --"
She cut him off: "I wanted to share it with you."
Normally, he would have asked share what, but Chesney thought he knew what she meant. Or at least he hoped he knew. He hoped he knew that the answer was everything.
He didn't overthink it.
She thought chaos was beautiful. He'd heard her say that. Describe its kind of beauty. He thought she was crazy. He'd always thought she was crazy.
She was beautiful.
Time passed.
They didn't notice.
They held hands, and looked at the stars, and watched the fire, and didn't overthink anything, until sunrise came and they walked home again, his arm around her waist, her head on his shoulder, and everything between them was distant and the same at once.
Maybe they were exact opposites. Maybe not quite. They sure weren't similar. But the tension between them -- it wasn't gone, no, most of the tension was exactly the same, she hated politics and he hated Brits and didn't trust women and she was a vegetarian, for crying out loud -- the tension between them had changed, and what had been one thing was turning into another, maybe a blossoming of love.
Chesney began to think that maybe chaos was beautiful, after all.
Author: wingshaped
Universe: World Enterprises
Flavor(s): Garlic #15, the witching hour
Wordcount: 1407
Rating: PG
Summary: The moment when Rain and Chesney realized they were in love. Backstory, but not far back enough to count as butterscotch.
Notes: A request, delivered on the spot (for this prompt, and including Chesney, not for this scene).
"Why are we here?" he whispered, and his voice felt horribly out of place. Not only was his whisper a perpetual stage whisper, loud and awkward, but his accent was sharply that of an American Southerner.
Sure, they were in the American South -- an American South, Rain Erlend reminded herself, this was one of many upon many and she was an agent of World Enterprises, subset T.H.E.Y., working as a subterfuge diplomat. A complicated enough position as it was, to try and convince people to settle down and do certain things without them even knowing she was doing it -- but it still sounded awkward to her. She was from Kent, and not the Kent in this world, as this world's England was nothing like hers, but the fact that this world was just similar enough to hers to be incredibly confusing (it was the 1980s, it looked like the 1950s, she was in the Confederate Colony of the Americas, for crying out loud, still beholden to Mother England!) made everything sound awkward.
Rain thought perhaps every time she looked inward and thought, in this world, she overused the mental italics.
Especially when it came to him. Chesney Birmingham-Smythe. Annoying just-out-of-school architect, misogynistic as they came, swung his rifle around too much. Tall, broad, blond, shaggy, irresistibly handsome, and despite the fact he'd tried to shoot her when he first saw her, more than just his irresistible handsomeness (and his stupid name, for that matter) was growing on her.
He was funny. He liked adventures. He liked following her around, despite how much trouble he kept insisting she was. And maybe she was trouble. But she was here to do a job, and he -- well, he kept being incidentally helpful.
"It's the devil's hour," Rain explained, as they continued to hide under the porch of a popular bar. "Hour before three a.m."
"Devil's hour's midnight," Chesney argued.
"Is not."
"Is too."
"It most certainly is not. The devil's hour is the hour before three o'clock in the morning, the witching hour you can say is whenever you like, and in worlds with magic --"
"Worlds with magic! What you talking about, woman?"
The way he spoke. She couldn't help it. Rain giggled. Giggling like a little girl, and she was nearly thirty-five years old.
"In worlds with magic," she continued, "superstition has it that magic has its greatest power in the hour before three. I, of course, don't believe it at all. But here, chaos has its greatest power in the hour before three --"
"Do you honestly expect me to believe that?"
"So does nature."
"What?"
People at Headquarters used to call Rain "Nature Girl." It wasn't a hard nickname to earn; her name was Rain. Her parents were hippies. She was one too.
"Nature has its greatest power in the hour before three. Isn't it beautiful?"
And finally, Rain's soft voice (having given up on whispers), and the gentle touch of her fingertips against the top of his hand as they sat, curled up together, getting dirty, underneath the broken porch of a not-so-local bar at 2:48 in the morning -- well, it got to Chesney.
He tossed his head a little, turned to face her. Stared into her eyes. It was like a scene in a bad romantic comedy, it was all too perfect.
She laughed.
Their fingers twined.
Chesney wanted to kiss her. Suddenly, he wanted to kiss her more than anything, like his entire world was wrapped up in kissing this infuriating woman --
Just before he leaned in, something in the back of the bar exploded. The building shook. Dust started to cave in on them. And Rain -- Rain was laughing.
"Run!" she chirped, and grabbed his hand, and pulled him out from underneath the porch, and they ran. They ran away from what was turning into a giant ball of flame, as booze on tap caught fire, too. They ran into a field, and then they were falling as they lost their footing, running and laughing, and tumbled slightly until they had fallen into a stream, finding themselves mildly cut up and soaking wet, Rain's skirts spilled about her, Chesney's boots filling up with water. They'd lost Rain's sunhat (the damn thing she insisted wearing even at night) about a mile back, and her twenty tiny braids were starting to unravel.
She had mud on her face.
"You have mud on your face," Rain pointed out, as she went to wipe it away from Chesney's cheeks, and he laughed again.
"Was gonna tell you that." Her touch was just what he needed. Wasn't it?
She smiled.
He splashed her face with water from the stream, grinning maliciously. "Wash it off, then!"
She shook her head at him, but actually used the stream water on her face. He cringed. How could she trust it? How could she do most of the things she did? Who was this woman, who'd been near him for the past month, who said all these things about other worlds and magic and secrets and devil's hours and chaos for crying out loud --
She was right about the chaos, though.
"How'd you know that was going to happen?"
"How did I --" Rain hesitated. "Oh. I didn't. I simply knew something would. It had to. It was the right time."
"And draggin' me --"
"You followed me."
"You knew I had."
That was true. "Well. I do like your company --"
"Rain."
"What."
"Damn it, woman, you're ridiculous."
"I am no such thing!"
"You are!"
"Why would you say a thing like that? Just then? Why'd it pop into your head?"
Good question. "Felt like I had to. Felt like I had to tell you that. Make sure you knew it."
"Well -- I know you feel that way."
"I don't just feel that way. I know that way. I mean, I know that you're --"
Kissing him, was the answer, suddenly. When he wasn't quite paying attention, their fingers had twined again, and he'd been aware of how she was getting closer to him and he was getting closer to her and -- well, he hadn't been expecting that.
He hadn't been expecting her to kiss him. What right did she think she had, kissing him first?
But even though they were out in a stream, wet, in the middle of the night, downhill from a blazing fire where a bar he'd been in maybe once used to be, well, Chesney Birmingham-Smythe just didn't care that the crazy woman had kissed him first. It was hard to care, surrounded by all the absurdity.
When the moment passed, he asked her: "Why?"
"What?" She was laughing as she spoke, leaning back against him. They were holding hands. He looked up. The stars were beautiful. He looked to his right. She was beautiful. The summer was beautiful. If you could ignore the fire, and the fact they'd spent an hour eavesdropping underneath a bar and hadn't heard anything that sounded important to him, well, everything about that night was beautiful.
"Why'd you drag me out --"
"I didn't even invite you."
"You knew I was --"
She cut him off: "I wanted to share it with you."
Normally, he would have asked share what, but Chesney thought he knew what she meant. Or at least he hoped he knew. He hoped he knew that the answer was everything.
He didn't overthink it.
She thought chaos was beautiful. He'd heard her say that. Describe its kind of beauty. He thought she was crazy. He'd always thought she was crazy.
She was beautiful.
Time passed.
They didn't notice.
They held hands, and looked at the stars, and watched the fire, and didn't overthink anything, until sunrise came and they walked home again, his arm around her waist, her head on his shoulder, and everything between them was distant and the same at once.
Maybe they were exact opposites. Maybe not quite. They sure weren't similar. But the tension between them -- it wasn't gone, no, most of the tension was exactly the same, she hated politics and he hated Brits and didn't trust women and she was a vegetarian, for crying out loud -- the tension between them had changed, and what had been one thing was turning into another, maybe a blossoming of love.
Chesney began to think that maybe chaos was beautiful, after all.